STRANGER.  P’raps he thought you wouldn’t marry him, if he did.

LADY PEMBURY.  Do you think that was it? (Earnestly to him, as if he were an old friend) You know men—­young men.  I never had a son; I never had any brothers.  Do they tell?  They ought to, oughtn’t they?

STRANGER.  Well—­well, if you ask me—­I say, look here, this isn’t the sort of thing one discusses with a lady.

LADY PEMBURY.  Isn’t it?  But one can talk to a friend.

STRANGER (scornfully).  You and me look like friends, don’t we?

LADY PEMBURY (smiling).  Well, we do, rather.

(He gets up hastily and moves further away from her.)

STRANGER.  I know what your game is.  Don’t think I don’t see it.

LADY PEMBURY.  What is it?

STRANGER.  Falling on your knees, and saying with tears in your eyes: 
“Oh, kind friend, spare me poor husband!” I know the sort of thing. 
And trying to work me up friendly before you begin.

LADY PEMBURY (shaking her head).  No, if I went on my knees to you, I shouldn’t say that.  How can you hurt my husband now?

STRANGER.  Well, I don’t suppose the scandal will do him much good.  Not an important Member of Parliament like him.

LADY PEMBURY.  Ah, but it isn’t the outside things that really hurt you, the things which are done to you, but the things which you do to yourself.  And so if I went on my knees to you, it would not be for my husband’s sake.  For I should go on my knees, and I should say:  “Oh, my son that might have been, think before you give up everything that a man should have.  Ambition, hope, pride, self-respect—­are not these worth keeping?  Is your life to end now?  Have you done all that you came into the world to do, so that now you can look back and say, ’It is finished; I have given all that I had to give; henceforward I will spend’?” (Very gently) Oh, my son that might have been!

STRANGER (very uncomfortable).  Here, I say, that isn’t fair.

LADY PEMBURY (gently).  When did your mother die?

STRANGER.  Look here, I wish you wouldn’t keep on about mothers.

LADY PEMBURY.  When did she die, proud mother?

STRANGER (sulkily).  Well, why shouldn’t she be proud? (After a pause)
Two years ago, if you want to know.

LADY PEMBURY.  It was then that you found out who your father was?

STRANGER.  That’s right.  I found these old letters.  She’d kept them locked up all those years.  Bit of luck for me.

LADY PEMBURY (almost to herself).  And that was two years ago.  And for two years you had your hopes, your ambitions, for two years you were proud and independent. . . .  Why did you not come to us then?

STRANGER (with a touch of vanity).  Well, I was getting on all right, you know—­and——­

LADY PEMBURY.  And then suddenly, after two years, you lost hope.